The Last of the Wine

by DJ Clawson

This is the last story in my series that began with "A Bit of Advice." At this point you should not be starting with this story, unless you really like a challenge. You should go to my profile page for links to the stories in order.

And now, back to our story:

Chapter 25 – The Gambling House Showdown

"He wrote! He wrote," Julia Richmond said with all the enthusiasm of a child on their birthday upon being handed Edmund's letter. They were hardly in the door in Lancashire before one of the servants presented her with it as her trunks were carried to the guest room. She leaned away as Georgie leaned in. "He is courting me and has every right to write in private."

Georgie frowned but did move away, letting the footman relieve her of her jacket and parasol as the maid approached her with her own letters, this time a stack. "We have procured a family dog. The arrangements for it – her – will surely not be followed to their entirety. You may want to roll up the carpets."

Her abigail unsuccessfully tried to hide her grin. "Yes, Mrs. Darcy."

On cue, Mala bounded in, followed by the overexcited children. The servants were ready to grab them, but not the dog, who scurried into the dining room but did not succeed in jumping up to the table as she was so eager to do. Instead she barked at the visible trays of food until Geoffrey picked her up. "That is not where your food shall be kept, Mala."

"Mahakala," his daughter corrected, resisting the tug of her nurse. "Can she stay with me?"

"Darling, she is a dog. She sleeps outside."

"But she'll be cold! And wet at night. And she'll be so lonely."

"When she's housebroken she can sleep in the house, and not a day before," he said, holding Mala under his arm like a package, as she was still small enough to handle in such a manner without complaint on her end. "Believe your father in his wisdom on the matter."

After Alison was led off for a bath, Georgie approached him. "I remember a little boy who used to let Sir Gawain sneak into his room at night."

"And I remember paying dearly for it," he replied. "In shredded clothing, ruined bed sheets, and punishments I would rather not perform on my children." He changed the subject by addressing Julia, who entered with the letter tucked under her arm. "Miss Richmond. Welcome to our home – our summer home, though we are often here in other seasons."

She curtseyed. "Mr. Darcy. Mrs. Darcy. Thank you for your hospitality."

"It is our pleasure," Georgiana said, without a hint of dishonesty.

*******************************************

Edmund was on airs – after he'd received his first letter, post-annulment, from Julia. He had faced his terrifying Uncle Darcy, who was surprisingly quiet on the whole business, something that made him all the more frightful initially. Only later did his Aunt Darcy reassure him.

"He knows not to disapprove after the fact," Elizabeth said. "It cannot be changed, and you are not a child to be scolded like one."

Edmund smiled and thanked his aunt, and they went to services, where the Vicar gave one of his summer speeches on contemplation and repentance. Mr. Emerson had a light touch, which was what so many of his sleepy parishioners liked about him, and the curate Mr. Hammond nodded with approval. Mr. Hammond's position was temporary, and there was already a possibility for the curacy – a college friend of the Vicar, a Mr. Hyde, who was visiting to see if the position would be made available. There was still some hesitancy to both a young Vicar and a young curate, both unmarried, but he was patient and content to live in the inn at Lambton until the community decided officially.

Edmund did not reveal, and was not obligated to reveal, the contents of the letter, though he did say that Miss Richmond was not against a move, however temporary, to India. It was one thing that they were so openly talking marriage arrangements when they were technically only courting, but how could they not? And how could they not marry?

*******************************************

"And that is the news," Charles Bingley III said to Danny Maddox in his study, finishing off the letter from his brother. "They are to be married for sure. There is just some discrepancy of finalizing it, her being so recently married."

Danny only said, "Of course."

"I am happy for Edmund. He deserves to be loved."

"He does."

Charles set aside the letter, no further news for the moment, and they set out on their evening task of entertainment. Frederick and Lady Heather Maddox had left for the north, leaving Danny alone as he chose not to follow them. Charles felt some obligation to see him about the town, but it was not a heavy obligation. Danny was well-mannered and made things light, and he was eager for a challenge (often more than his competitors or partners), whether it be dancing or playing tile-based games. He was still trying to master chess, but needed to constantly be reminded of where the pieces were, so he did not ask it of many people. While he did not flirt with or seriously court women (though he did allow himself to be flirted with), he did not mind being the spectacle at assemblies if it meant him gaining a dance partner, even if she was doing it out of curiosity or after being egged on by friends. Charles stood behind him, no more or less observant to their private jibes at Danny's condition but far less tolerant of them.

They spent an hour at an assembly, Danny dancing two of the three dances. The middle one he did not know, and the third he barely knew enough not to step on the feet of his partner, whom he most graciously thanked.

He had some punch and walked away from it grinning. "The monastery in Japan was not so lively, and not full of female company," he replied to Charles' unasked question. From there they went to a club, where Danny gambled a very small amount over tiles, winning more of it than he expected, but generally losing most of the few pounds that he put down. When he could not find another partner willing to take the time it would take (what with him having to constantly rub his hands over the tiles to read them), they departed, and spent Charles' small winnings on a few pints.

Eventually someone propositioned them for a game of cassino, which they accepted (and on very small terms and with stern limits), and they removed to a back room, wiling away some time there. Charles was a worse gambler but had a clear advantage over Danny, and between the two of them, they were hardly robbed, but their partner departed and they were willing to call it a night when there was a knock on the door.

"Come." Charles was a little tipsy. Danny just put a hand on his cane.

"Charles!" To his horror, it was Paul. "I thought you would be alone."

"In the back of a tavern?"

"I was not thinking. Forgive me."

Paul moved to leave, but Charles figured the damage was done – or would be worse if things were not explained in some fashion – and gestured for him to stop. "Danny, this is my good friend, Mr. Watts. Mr. Watts, this is my cousin, Mr. Maddox."

Paul glanced nervously at Charles for approval before bowing. "How do you do?"

Danny nodded his head as an abbreviated bow in his general direction.

"I am sorry for disturbing you."

"Nonsense," Danny said. "We were just getting robbed by any vagrant with a few coins and willingness to play with me. Or little enough of a conscience."

Charles, caught between the two, let Paul speak. "I will play with you, but not for lack of conscience or home. What is your game?"

"Something with tiles. That way I have a chance."

Paul sat down and poured himself a drink from the bottle. There were still tiles on the table. "Forgive my intrusion. I was seeking some better company than that available at home. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Maddox."

"You as well." He put a few coins up on the table. "If my pleasure-seeking inclination is keeping you from more pressing business – "

"The opposite. The business that is pressing is not what I seek." He began arranging the tiles, but his mind wasn't on it. Charles could see that, but hardly wanted to ask, in front of Danny at least. "Are you married, Mr. Maddox?"

"I have yet to join that esteemed community," Danny replied. "Something about my appearance seems to put women off."

"You've had offers," Charles said before he could stop himself. They were offers for flirtations, and he said it because he was a little drunk.

"To be my nursemaid more than my wife. I will not have a woman marry me out of pity." He took his share of tiles, counting them twice to be sure. "Why do you ask, Mr. Watts?"

Paul squirmed. "I am ashamed to assault you with my inconveniences, Mr. Maddox."

"Hardly. Is that not what drinking and gambling are pretenses for?"

"I suppose. Well, the truth of it is I am just escaping my family home, where my fiancée and her family invaded for several hours on the pretense of a meal."

"Paul's marriage was arranged," Charles explained. "For some reason he disagrees with this practice."

"Says he who is unattached and has been free of serious attachments via distant family for years," Paul said, with little sympathy. He was obviously hurting from whatever his fiancée said to him. They did not get along, but made the pretense of getting along in front of their family – or that was what happened in the past, according to Paul. "I remain in a state of imminent attachment to this woman for the same reasons anyone would – financial. Our futures are bound together by enough stocks and investments that even my solicitor cannot untangle them – not until we marry."

"I see."

The game began in earnest. Paul was eager to concentrate on the game, and away from his troubles. Charles stayed out of it, helping Danny when he needed help, and it was an even match until the door opened, though they had not given any permission. It was not the servant coming to refill their drinks.

"Mr. Watts," said the first man, as two entered from behind him and flanked him. He was tall, not too burly, but had a long mustache that was black and made him more menacing, especially with his tall hat still on.

Paul looked up. "I recognize you."

"Not enough to know my name."

"We were not introduced." He put his money back in his pocket and stood. "I saw you speaking to Evelyn. She said you were a solicitor."

"She is partially correct, I suppose, though it's a rather fancy thing to call me." He grinned, and it was not a nice grin. Charles was debating whether to rise, but Danny did not. He played with the tile in his hand. "I have done some ... solicitations on behalf of Miss Garrow, and discovered that you are as profitable to her as a husband as you are dead."

Now Charles did rise. "What is the meaning of – "

"And you must be Charles," the solicitor said. "Bingley, isn't it? The name sounds familiar. Must have made the papers for something else." He looked to Danny. "You – well, you have enough troubles, I think, without me recognizing you. You can go."

"You cannot kill me in front of witnesses," Paul said, trying to hide the tremble in his voice.

"I've no intentions of doing so. The magistrate will be happy enough to hang you – or maybe he'll just deport you, if you give up some names. It'll probably do good for his record to have another sodomy ring exposed – good for the papers. They like to see one every now and then."

"So you're here to arrest me?"

"Not unless you marry her – those are the terms, Mr. Watts, if you'd like to discuss them with your lover. Otherwise –" He grabbed Paul, who flew from his grasp and around the table.

The men drew guns, and the solicitor his, but a step forward and Danny was before him, his cane raised and pulled apart so that the sword inside was pressed against the solicitor's chest and throat. The other end of the sword prevented the attacker from raising the hand with the gun. "You should have raised it earlier," said Danny, his head bowed as it always was so that the solicitor's gaze was directly on Danny's forehead, not his face. "If your intentions were to attack us in such close quarters, you must account for the amount of time it takes to draw the gun." The man pressed just a touch, so blood was drawn by the sharp edge of the blade and he realized the position he was in. Danny did not waver. "You've left yourself very little room to move."

"I'll kill you."

"You won't make it that far." Danny's voice, normally so casual, was all authority. "This blade has cut through better things than you, sir. Let us leave and you can have your life. I think it is a fair bargain."

The man consider the option before dropping his gun. "Go."

Danny withdrew, sliding the sword back into the cane, but only long enough to use the cane to knock over the table in the direction of the other two thugs, delaying them as Paul kicked open the back door and the three of them fled onto the streets.

"This way!" Paul said, and Charles grabbed Danny's arm and led him down towards the docks, where they could find a corner to recollect. "Shit. Charles, I didn't mean – "

"You had no inkling?"

"Of course not!" Paul tempered his voice. "There was no way I would endanger you – or myself, or Mr. Maddox – I'm so sorry." He paused, breathing in the evening air, only slightly more bearable than the morning air because of the breeze and the proximity of the Thames. "She's never threatened to kill me. I never told her – I never told anyone. She must have had me followed."

Charles was not so sure how sympathetic he should have been, but his heart still went out to Paul. "She obviously did."

"If I go to jail, you might go with me. I wouldn't give your name except under torture, and they wouldn't do that, but she might have the evidence. I – " He looked down, collecting himself, and paced before he could face him again. "I must go to France."

"France?"

"Anywhere, really, that isn't here. Calais certainly should be safe. If not, Spain."

Charles swallowed. "You can't."

"I must."

"Your family will cut you off."

"I will manage."

"You will have nothing – I've heard of what goes on in those places – "

"Charles, I'm doing this because I have to, not because I want to. I cannot ask anything of you. I cannot ask for you to go to trial for me, or to leave with me – "

Charles gasped. So there it was. Paul was thinking it; he was thinking it, too. He was just waiting for it to be mentioned. Still, Paul did not ask, at least not in words. His expression betrayed him. "If I do not go, you will have nothing."

"You have something? How much do you have on you?"

If you go, I will have nothing, Charles thought. "You do not love me." That Danny was there was only a secondary thought to him. What could Danny not know now? How could Charles begin to deny it? "You should beg me to go."

"Charles, I do not ask because I do love you, and know you well enough to know you care more for your family – "

"I have done enough for my family." He had sacrificed everything, so many times, to remain a Bingley. He would regret it later, but now he could only think of Paul, the only man he'd truly loved since Guy, who himself was so mistreated by his own family. Could he go through that again? And what, marry someone like Miss Emerson – pleasant enough, but lacking all the passion that made his life worthwhile, fleeting as it could be? "I love my family, but ..." He bit his lip. "When do you intend to leave?"

"Now. Tonight. As soon as I can find a ship that will take me. I have some funds tied up where they don't know about it."

"How much?"

"100 pounds, maybe by now."

Not nearly enough, even to begin a proper life in France, or wherever he ended up. "Let me speak to my cousin."

Paul nodded and stepped away. Danny was sitting on the steps leading up to the entrance to a closed office, his cane so inauspiciously held in one hand and the end resting on his shoe. "So. You are to go abroad again, then?"

"You knew?"

"I had suspicions, but they were not confirmed." Danny's voice was so even, so calm. "I have on me only a few pounds."

"That was not what I meant to ask – "

He stood, as if to face Charles, though his head, as usual, was pointed more to Charles' chest. He was also a bit shorter, which didn't help. "You mean to ask my advice, and I cannot make this decision for you. It will have consequences for the rest of your life, but so will staying here and leaving him to an uncertain fate. It is too difficult for me to begin to know your pain."

Charles was speechless.

Danny only smiled at his silence. "You are speaking to a former Japanese monk, Charles. You cannot expect me to be anything but unusual. Now, limited as my understanding of finances is, if you sign over control of your personal assets to me, I can liquidate them and have them sent to you before anyone is the wiser. And how much blame can they heap upon me? They will be much harder on you, and you will be gone."

"Daniel – "

Danny held out his hand, for Charles to take it. "They will forgive you, I think, in time. And if you write some very apologetic letters. Acceptance is too much to ask, but they are good Christians and they are your family, so forgiveness is not. Besides, I think Edmund could use the Kirkland inheritance more than he would admit."

He choked on his words before he spoke them. "Let me think. Let us find a ship for Paul."

"Yes."

They did not speak. There was too much to say that was too easily said in their own minds, knowing their would be no answers. They found cheap passage to France, that would take one or two passengers to the coast. Between them all, if they sold their watches and jewelry, they had maybe thirty pounds.

"For me there is no decision," Paul said, and shook Danny's hand. "I cannot thank you enough. I can ask you how you did it."

"You were present."

"But how did you know – "

Danny shrugged. "I had a good teacher. Good luck, Mr. Watts."

"And the same to you, Mr. Maddox."

Paul turned to Charles, who embraced him. "I cannot let you go."

"Then you must come with me."

Charles separated only long enough to wipe his tears. "I will regret it, either way."

"I already regret asking you, and forcing this on you, but I will do what I can to make it worth your while."

The captain of the ship had some paper. Charles, with Paul as witness, signed over partial control of his personal accounts, listing their places and numbers, to Daniel Maddox Jr. The captain had wax, but he had no seal, so Charles pressed his thumb into the hot wax, biting his lip so hard as to almost draw blood until it took hold, and he could hand the document to Danny. Hopefully – possibly with the right bribes at the bank the next day – the document would hold up. "I will write."

"I know."

"I will write my location to you, and to everyone else; will you forward my letters?"

"Of course."

He grabbed Danny and hugged him so hard it hurt. "I cannot thank you for your kindness."

"It is not required. You are family."

Charles swallowed a sob, tugged one last time on his cousin, and released him before stepping down onto the boat. "Goodbye, Danny."

"Goodbye, Charles." He learned over the dock, and handed him what looked like a pocket watch. It opened to reveal a compass instead. "Take this for your travels."

"May I ask – why do you have a compass?" After all, the needle was beneath glass. Danny could not make any use of it himself.

"Because it has never led me astray," he said, and backed away so the boat could pull out, away from the docks and into the mist that enveloped the harbor and obscured the full blackness of night.

... Next Chapter - Danny's Ordeal